


Early Sunsets (or Flying Is The Most Fun A Boy Can Have Without Taking His Clothes Off)

by hull1984



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Humor, Bandom cameos, M/M, Post - Deathly Hallows, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-04
Updated: 2011-08-05
Packaged: 2017-10-22 05:35:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hull1984/pseuds/hull1984
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After The War and so many shared losses, the Muggles have demanded that there be no more secrets.  The walls between the Wizard and Muggle worlds have been levelled and the two are now forever entwined.</p><p>As the Wizarding World learns to live along side its new neighbour, for some, other more pressing realities have to be dealt with.</p><p>Draco Malfoy has pissed off a very old, very powerful Vampire. Will Ron Weasley be the one to pay the price?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the ficadron Challenge. My prompt was 'flying'. All credit goes to Terry Pratchett for the concept of Undead Rights and Evil Elves.
> 
> WARNINGS: NON-EXPLICIT NON-CON (INVOLVES VAMPIRE MIND-CONTROLLED COERCION)

The best thing about being a vampire was the flying.

Taking a deep breath, he looked down to where the lights of the city glittered prettily below. Stepping closer to the edge, he stretched out his arms and took a moment to enjoy the warm air ghosting through his hair. Then, grin wide, he fell forward and swooped.

Oh, yeah.

 _Definitely_ the flying.

~~~~

Things were different after Voldemort’s defeat.

There were a lot more Zombies for a start.

Ron tapped his quill on the edge of the desk and frowned at the report in his hand. He loved his job, he really did, but he had assumed - not unreasonably he felt - that being an Auror _post_ -Voldemort would be a damn sight easier than being one _during_ his reign of terror. Of course, it just figured that he’d be wrong.

Unfortunately, what he, and pretty much the rest of the Wizarding World, had failed to take into account was the possible effect that Voldemort’s demise might have on the rest of the Dark Folk.

See, what none of them had realised was that while Voldemort may well have been ‘a bit of a bad egg’ (and Rita Skeeta really shouldn’t be allowed to write biographies), what he had also been was bloody good at suppressing all the other darker elements of society (well, until he was ready to use them for his own nefarious purposes, of course).

Take Zombies for example - and Ron _really_ wished someone would take the Zombies - The Dark Lord had had a particular dislike for them (he said they gave him the willies). And well, while Ron had never thought to find any common ground with the slit-nosed bastard, he definitely had a point there. Of course, when it became known that Lord Voldemort had declared open season on their heads, the Zombies, not being as slow - physically or mentally - as some Muggle films would have you believe, had soon made themselves scarce. No one knew where they had gone, only that they _had_ gone.

Werewolves, as everyone knew, had pretty much stuck around during The War, fighting on both sides. Some, like Remus Lupin, achieving in death a cult-like status; his grave instantly a place of pilgrimage. While the likes of Fenrir Greyback quickly became the star of many a scary story passed from child to child around a camp fire or by torchlight under a duvet cover.

As for the Elves. Well, if the Elves ever showed up again frankly they were all fucked.

Nobody _ever_ talked about the Elves.

The Vampires, on the other hand, had gone to Europe. A surprising choice perhaps given the climate, but it was all part of the agreement that they had made with The Dark Lord. Once he had conquered Britain, Voldemort had planned to enlist the Vampires’ aid in taking over the rest of Europe. It was essential, therefore, that he keep them close at hand. So they had scattered across western and southern Europe, mainly Italy, some parts of Spain, and most notably, France.

The details of this sinister pact had only come to light following the end of The War, when several senior captured Death Eaters had confirmed its existence and revealed the full extent of its contents. Ron remembered feeling sick to his stomach when he’d read that in exchange for their assistance, Voldemort had promised the bloodsucking bastards a percentage of humans on which to feed, planning to hand-over whole families so the vile creatures would have several generations - _vintages_ if you will - on which to dine.

Following the end of The War, the Vampires had wisely chosen to remain abroad, emerging only gradually to slowly establish a power base in most of the major cities of Europe. If they caused problems the news never made it as far as Britain. In a post-Voldemort world suddenly flooded with Zombies, Golems and feral Werewolves this came as a relief - one less group of Undead fuckers to deal with was all to the good.

Ron re-read the last part of the report - the part that mostly concerned the long and very messy clean-up following the Zombie sit-in at a Muggle Job Centre (once again they had been claiming discrimination on the grounds of being _dead_ ) - and found himself thinking wistfully of Vampires. Really, how bad could they be?

His musings were interrupted when Harry walked into their shared office and sat down in the chair behind his desk with a loud sigh. He dropped a large manila folder onto the desk and glared at it.

Ron looked up curious. “Okay, so who stole your broomstick?” he asked, mouth quirking up at one side.

Harry shook his head. “I wish it was that straight forward,” he replied. Leaning forward, he picked up the folder and waved it in the air. “You might want to take a look at this,” and with a distasteful twist of his mouth, he lowered the folder and pushed it across the desk towards Ron.

Ron shrugged and opened the folder. Several photos fell out onto his desk. He picked one up and looked at it.

“You know, Harry,” he said, frowning down at the photo in his hand, “it would be nice if you gave a bloke some warning, or at least waited until after lunch, to share your holiday photos.”

Harry let out a hollow laugh, but didn’t say anything. Clearly he wanted Ron to study all the photos and the rest of the contents of the folder before commenting.

The next few minutes passed in relative silence, save for the occasional huff from Ron as he digested the report.

When he’d finished reading and examining the photos, he placed the last piece of paper onto his desk, leant back and crossed his legs.

“Vampires,” he stated baldly (served him right really, for tempting fate).

Harry nodded, before running his hands through his hair. “Yeah, that’s what it looks like.” He stood up and started to walk back and forth behind his desk. “And more than one if the bite marks are anything to go by.”

Ron grimaced. “Oh yuk.”

Harry smiled wryly. “Quite.”

“So,” Ron said, sitting up in his chair and resting his hands on his desk. If this meant his holiday next week was cancelled he was going to have to kill someone (very probably Harry). He narrowed his eyes at his best friend and waited.

“So,” Harry repeated, turning to face Ron, “no rest days and all the over-time you could possibly wish for until we catch the fuckers.” He grinned wickedly.

Ron picked up the snitch paperweight from his desk and threw it at Harry’s head.

Luckily, Harry’s seeker skills hadn’t been dulled by lack of practise. He ducked just in time. Straightening up he shook his head. “Now really, Ron, is that any way to treat a present from your little sister?”

Ron didn’t reply. Well, not verbally.

~~~~

Three days later they were no closer to finding the Vampires responsible for the carnage captured in the grisly photos. They did, however, have several new photos. They’d pinned them to the notice board in the main office. They weren’t very pretty.

Ron was lying on the old, worn leather sofa that was tucked against the furthest wall of his side of the office. He ached. Everywhere. Even his hair. He felt as though he hadn’t slept for days. Probably because he hadn’t slept for days.

He’d like to put it all down to the current investigation but he couldn’t. Harry always made sure, no matter the temptation to stay, that they both left the office long enough to ensure a decent amount of sleep.

But Ron hadn’t been sleeping. Which for a bloke who had been enjoying an average of nine hours a night for as long as he could remember - come hail, shine, or Voldemort and all his little minions - was a bit of a shock.

What’s more, he couldn’t figure out why. Sure, when he left the office each day, his head still thrummed with all the shit they were dealing with, the possible leads and evidence, chasing themselves round and round in his brain until he felt his head would explode. But well, that was pretty much normal when he and Harry were in the middle of a case. It had never actually stopped him passing out comatose on his bed once he made it home.

Not until now.

There was just something about _this_ case.

Or maybe it was that every night when he left The Ministry he felt strange eyes on him. Day after day, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone - or some _thing_ \- was watching him.

Even when he reached home, when he was behind locked door and windows, hidden by blinds and curtains and head under the bedcovers (not that he’d ever admit that bit), he still felt eyes _on_ him.

And if he ever did manage to drift off into an uneasy slumber, it was only to jerk abruptly awake moments later, shivering from the cold, and with the ghost of sour breath still on his neck.

He hadn’t told Harry. Not because he thought he couldn’t; he knew Harry would believe him. And he wanted to. He really did. But it was just so long since he’d said ‘I’m not okay’, that now he wasn’t sure he could.

It would pass. It was just those photos (and the bloody details that lay in every line of every report). It was inevitable that he’d start having nightmares about Vampires stalking him and eyeing up his neck as a tasty snack, right?

Ron groaned, rubbing his hand across gritty eyes he turned to face the back of the sofa. He was beginning to doubt the wisdom of getting up in the middle of the night and returning to the office. He’d thought the walk might tire him out, and sometimes he slept better on the battered sofa there, than he did in his own bed at home. Not tonight though.

An hour later he’d actually started to fall into an exhausted drowse, his body finally relaxing, seeping into the old familiar shape of the worn leather.

~~~~

It was dark when he left the office that day. Ron yawned, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck. He was looking forward to a long, hot shower when he got home and some well earned sleep. His feet moved as if on auto-pilot in the direction of his Apparition Point.

Except it seemed to be taking an awful long time to get there.

Looking up, Ron frowned. That was odd. He didn’t recognise the street he was on. Shaking his head, he turned and headed back the way he had come. Only to come up against a dead end. _Huh_.

Oh, come on. He couldn’t be lost. He’d been taking the same route home for the last two years. He turned again and peered into the gloom. It had suddenly grown very dark, and a cold mist swirled around his body making him shiver.

Bloody hell. He suddenly felt like he was in the middle of one of those creepy bloody nightmares he’d definitely _not_ been having.

He reached into his robe to grip his wand, only to find it wasn’t there. What the hell?

A cold hand reached out from behind him and took hold of his chin in a firm grip. Ron struggled to free his head as a second hand wrapped around his chest and pulled him back against a solid body. Icy breath wafted over his collarbone as his head was wrenched painfully to the side to expose one side of his neck.

“Missed me, Weasel?”

A tongue stroked slowly across his pulse point. Ron gasped briefly before screaming in pain as his flesh was suddenly sliced open by two sharp fangs biting down, blood spurting in bright red ropes of colour across his face and chest.

Ron sat up with a cry.

The light was still on and he looked frantically around the room.

It was empty save for him.

_Shit. Shit. Shit._

He slumped back onto the sofa with a groan.

He was _so_ fucked.

 _Malfoy_.

Sweet Merlin. Not even Harry knew about Malfoy.

He ran his hands through his hair and refused to acknowledge how much they were shaking.

Draco Malfoy.

Remembering came all too easily.

It had been during their sixth year at Hogwarts. Ron had been angry at the world and only too happy to take it all out on Malfoy.

It hadn’t gone quite as planned.

////

_Ron was jealous of Harry._

_Well, of course, he bloody was. Why would this year be different to any other?_

_The fact that the jealousy included Hermione this year, just made it that much more…well, every thing._

_Ron stormed along the hallway fuming quietly to himself. Fuck Harry and his latest bloody fan club! Who’d want to be a part of that, anyway? Not him. He was glad to be out of it._

_He stopped abruptly and paced up and down the deserted corridor. He was just sick of it, so fed up of always being the one cast aside, overlooked. It was so unfair. He’d had it the whole of his damn life. With five older brothers you’d think he’d be used to it, used to coming last - yeah, even behind Fred and George - and how bloody insulting was that?_

_All he’d wanted was a ‘normal’ friend - or, actually no, someone drab, someone a little boring would have been bloody brilliant. Someone who might even be a little dazzled by Ron’s own mediocrity. Someone who might have been grateful for **his** attention for a change._

_But, oh no. No, he’d got Harry bloody Potter. Saviour of the Wizarding World. And yeah, he loved the four-eyed little git but Merlin, he was so tired of everyone and their bloody aunt falling all over themselves to kiss Harry’s arse. Hell, even his stupid little sister had a crush on him now. She’d probably get picked by Slughorn next, just for her good taste in fantasy boyfriends._

_Bloody Slughorn and his stupid bleeding club. Now Hermione was pulling away from him too. Soon she and Harry would be ignoring him completely in favour of cozying up with the rest of Slughorn’s gorgeous little group of protégés._

_No, things were all too clear - Ron was being left behind. And it bloody terrified him._

_Just then, something in the corridor ahead of him caught his eye. A shock of white hair._

_Malfoy._

_Ron smirked viciously. At least he wasn’t the only one being left behind. Malfoy hadn’t made The Club either. Bet that had gone down well with daddy. He clenched his fists at his sides, overwhelmed by his choking anger. Bloody Ferret. And he suddenly knew how he could work off all the terrible energy thrumming under his skin._

_He started to walk quicker, following after the Slytherin boy._

_A few minutes later he was standing outside one of the old abandoned bathrooms. What was Malfoy doing here? No one used this bathroom, most people didn’t even know it was there. Shaking his head, Ron pushed his curiosity aside - at least he knew they wouldn’t be disturbed. He pushed the door open and walked inside._

_And stopped._

_Malfoy was hunched over one of the sinks. His shoulders were shaking and he seemed to be talking to himself; Ron thought he could just make out little gasps of “I can’t, I can’t”. All at once a cold shiver of dread ran through the length of Ron’s body as realisation hit him like a bludger to the head._

_Bloody hell. Malfoy was sobbing._

_Shit. Not good, very not good. Ron didn’t handle crying. Ever._

_If he could just back out quietly without The Ferret noticing. He had one foot raised ready to step back when Malfoy looked up and their eyes met in the mirror above the sink._

_For a moment Malfoy’s face was frozen in panic, a look that soon morphed in to cold fury. He span around to face Ron and snarled, “what are you doing here, Weasel?”_

_Not bothering to wait for any sort of answer, he walked quickly over to Ron, stopping mere inches from his face. “Spying for bloody Potter, are you?” he spat out. “The great Harry Potter too busy with his fawning little fan club to do his own dirty work so he sends his pathetic little sidekick,” he sneered._

_Ron had been stuck to the spot up to that point, torn between the urge to turn and run, and the more unsettling urge to reach out to Malfoy. The other boy had looked so pitiful; too small, too vulnerable huddled over the sink like that. When Malfoy had faced him, his eyes had been red from tears that were still falling, his face all blotched and snotty. And all the fight had gone out of Ron - how could he have been mad at **that**? It would have been ridiculous. _

_Malfoy’s words - hitting a raw nerve as they did - snapped him out of his indecision. Ron suddenly knew exactly what to do. He reached back his arm and punched Malfoy right on the end of his pointy little nose._

_The force of the blow sent Malfoy sprawling backwards onto the floor. He lay there panting, blood gushing from his abused nose. Then, he looked up at Ron and started to laugh, “predictable as always, Weaselbee.”_

_It was all too much for Ron. He launched himself on top of the other boy, punching, kicking, biting, using any means he could to make him bleed, to make him hurt._

_Malfoy was no slouch either, returning the blows with fists, elbows, knees, any weapon he could find._

_They tumbled across the floor, first Ron on top, Malfoy the next, neither boy letting up their assault, neither willing to give an inch._

_Ron would never be able to say when he realised punching and biting had become clutching and kissing. It was just one thing one moment, something else the next, equally desperate, equally violent but oh. So. Fucking. More._

_Afterward._

_(Well, actually it was a damn sight less awkward than Ron would have supposed. Malfoy had been pretty decent about the whole thing really)._

_Malfoy was the first one to come to his senses. He pulled his hand out of Ron’s underwear, and stood up (a little shakily but that was to be expected). Tucking himself back into his trousers he looked down at Ron, wide-eyed._

_Ron noticed that he had two bright red spots of colour on his cheeks and smiled. He felt inexplicably proud of himself._

_“Argh.” Malfoy’s hand shot up to press against his mouth, as if to stop any other sounds escaping._

_Then, he turned and left._

_Ron had started laughing hysterically at that point._

_Three days later, Ron had been alone in the changing room after Quidditch practise, when Malfoy had strolled in, and without a word, had backed him up against the nearest wall and snogged his face off._

_He knew he should have pushed him away; should have told him to bugger off. But well, it was hard to talk with a hot tongue in your mouth - especially when it wasn’t your own (that was Ron’s excuse and he was sticking to it)._

_It became a fairly regular occurrence after that. Each one seeking the other out, sometimes meeting in the middle as they both came searching._

_Until._

_Look, it wasn’t like that. Ron hadn’t ever thought it was anything. It was Malfoy. Obnoxious, arrogant Malfoy._

_It was just that Ron was long past the whole gay freak out and also wasn’t dead. So yeah, he got that Malfoy was bloody hot. He paused and thought about it for a minute. Okay, yeah, well, apparently he’d figured that out before the gay thing. Huh._

_But the point, the very important point was that he had no feelings for Malfoy. Uh uh. None. Other than enjoying getting off with him, which well, teenage boy so pretty much any warm body would do. But it wasn’t like he wanted them to elope to Canada and adopt babies or anything, so the whole break-up when it came was fine._

_Except, of course, it wasn’t a break-up._

_It couldn’t have been._

_So, the --_

_“Fuck off, Weasley.”_

_\-- when it came, was fine._

_Really._

_It’s not like Ron felt like he’d been physically punched. Or anything._

_Just because he’d been curled up with Draco - **Malfoy** \- on a bed in the Room of Requirement, with fingers running gently through his hair, only minutes before. _

_It’s not like he’d been moments away from asking Malfoy to stay._

_So, really it was all for the best._

_“You were a casual fuck.”_

_He knew that. Oh come on, it’s not like he was stupid enough to fall for the enemy._

_He’d known what this was._

_This._

_This thing._

_Just a **thing**._

_“You didn’t think you were special, did you?”_

_Yeah, right, Ferret. Special. Oh, Merlin. Now, that’s funny._

_“I used you, Weasel. I thought you might spill some information about the Order of the Phoenix while we were fucking . That is all.”_

_Spill. Spilled my heart out, you heartless bastard._

_“Now, please get off me, so I can get up and go and wash off your stink.”_

_Yes._

_Malfoy had been pretty decent about the whole thing really._

_////_

By the time Harry turned up to the office the next morning, sleepy-eyed and yawning, Ron was on his second pot of coffee and desperate to get out of the building.

Harry frowned at the blanket folded neatly at the bottom of the couch.

“Shit, Ron, you know Hermione is going to kick my arse if she finds out that you slept here again,” he whined.

Ron huffed. “Oh cheers, Harry. You’re concern for _my_ well-being is overwhelming.”

Harry sat down behind his desk and shrugged. “It’s _Hermione_ , Ron.”

He had a point. Ron nodded. “Fair enough, but she won’t find out unless you tell her.”

“Or,” a familiar voice put in behind him, “if she happens to turn up unannounced and sees for herself that yet again, Ronald, you are failing spectacularly at looking after yourself.”

Bugger.

Harry gave him a weak, apologetic smile; bastard had known she was planning on coming. Ron just had time to narrow his eyes at his squirming friend before Hermione was in front of him, concerned eyes raking over his face.

“Oh, Ron.” And to his utter surprise she knelt down and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

“Um.” He looked helplessly over at Harry who just shrugged, clearly equally at a loss.

A few awkward moments passed before Hermione finally released him from her death grip, only to turn around and glare at Harry.

“Harry!” She snapped. “Why didn’t you tell me he was _this_ bad?”

Harry had barely opened his mouth to reply, when she turned back to Ron, and stroking her hand gently through his hair, she sighed. “Oh, Ron,” she said softly, “you look like shit.”

Ron stared blankly at her for a moment before bursting into laughter. Harry joined in almost immediately and eventually even Hermione was giggling quietly, even as she shook her head at them both and looked on the verge of tears.

~~~~

Hermione didn’t stay long; she had a class to teach at 9am (after obtaining her Muggle degree in Chemistry, she had taken up the Transfiguration post at Hogwarts; personally Ron thought it was a huge waste of her skills, but Hermione had been adamant that there was no finer calling than that of “shaping young minds.” Yeah, right).

She just stayed long enough to lecture them both on the importance of keeping regular hours, eating nutritionally sound meals and going for brisk walks in the fresh air.

Harry was very apologetic after she left, explaining that she had waylaid him at home the previous evening and before he had even realised it, he’d found himself telling her all about their current case and - “yeah, sorry mate,” - Ron’s subsequent insomnia.

Ron wasn’t cross. He sympathised; he’d been on the wrong end of Hermione’s interrogations enough times to understand. He was just a little shocked that his own restlessness had actually impinged on Harry’s consciousness enough for him to admit it to Hermione. It’s not that Harry was selfish exactly, but he could be pretty self-absorbed, he was usually oblivious to anything that didn’t effect him directly.

Clearly, Ron _really_ needed to get some sleep.

~~~

The Vampire killings were starting to get really fucking annoying.

They made no sense, which in a way made too much sense - _if_ it was one psychotic blood-sucker on a random rampage. But see that right there, that really made no sense whatsoever - Vampires did not tolerate mavericks. You were a part of a clan. Or you were dead. Individuals were not allowed to act alone. And besides, they’d already established at the start, that the bite marks on the bodies were not made by just one Vampire. It was definitely a group effort.

But why would any one clan draw attention to itself this far from its own territory?

There seemed to be no connection between the victims. None of them were related, worked together, knew each other, or had ever mutually dated anyone.

There was nothing.

No pattern to go on whatsoever.

“Ooh,” Ginny said, as she glanced at the map pinned to the wall. “Nice spiral.”

Then she kissed Harry and left to pick the children up from school.

Harry and Ron spent the next ten minutes staring at the pins stuck in the map, daring the other to be the first one to speak.

Harry broke first.

“That was_” he couldn’t seem to find the right words.

“Don’t worry about it,” Ron supplied. “She’s always been freaky.”

It was probably quite a tactless remark to make to a man about his wife, but then Harry didn’t exactly rush to Ginny’s defence (professional pride was a very special pride after all).

So, they had their first solid lead - “yes, Harry, I promise never to tell Ginny that it came from her” - the murders had occurred in a spiral pattern that centred on The Ministry.

Their first response was to put the Minister of Magic on high security alert.

Their second was to examine the body left on the Ministry steps the next day and say, “Eew”.

Harry rubbed absently at his scar (it no longer hurt like it had when Voldemort was alive but he still rubbed at it when he was stressed). “It’s almost like a cat leaving a dead mouse on the doorstep,” he said.

Ron looked down at the body and grimaced. “ _Half_ a dead mouse, Harry.”

They both studied the remains that were yet to be identified - it was going to take some detailed dental work (not necessarily the victims) - and shook their heads.

Of course, now that the thought had been planted in his mind, Ron couldn’t shake it - what if it _was_ a game of cat-and-mouse?

Could it really be Malfoy taunting him?

He’d heard rumours.

Just by chance.

It’s not like he’d gone out of his way to find out what had happened to the stupid bloody git or anything.

But he had heard. Things.

Like how Malfoy had moved abroad with his mother following his father’s death (a rusty knife to the heart, courtesy of a zealous Voldemort supporter in Azkaban).

They’d kept a low profile to begin with, obviously wary due to their recent notoriety. But, gradually after a year or two, they had been seen out and about again, mixing in the best society. Malfoy had even been linked with several eligible society ladies (Ron had snorted at that - really, who was he trying to kid?)

Then, around the same time that The Ministry began to hear about the emerging Vampire clans, Malfoy was rumoured to be mixing in ‘questionable’ circles. He’d dropped abruptly from sight about a year ago and nothing had been heard about him since. His mother’s sudden death had been reported at about the same time.

Malfoy had not attended the funeral.

~~~~

Ron said goodbye to Harry and walked towards the corner of the street. The Apparition Point for his District was a ten minute walk in the opposite direction from Harry’s.

In theory he could still Apparate anywhere, there were no wards against it, but anyone caught contravening the new Muggle Integration Laws faced severe penalties; it just wasn’t worth the risk (apparently, Wizards suddenly appearing next to them, heralded by a deafening _crack_ , unnerved some Muggles).

The pavements were wet from the earlier rain. Ron smiled, taking in a deep breath, he loved the smell following rain, always had. He stopped walking, suddenly overwhelmed by a strong feeling of deja-vu. A shudder ran through him as he remembered the nightmare he’d had about Malfoy. Merlin, he’d be glad to get home. He shook himself out of his thoughts and walked briskly on.

Something made him stop. Why was he walking this way? Harry’s owl had said to meet him in Knockturn Alley. He had a vague moment of wondering _what owl_ just before he Apparated.

The Alley was empty. That was odd, there had never been any time day or night, that Ron had ever known that area of town to be deserted. Something was definitely not right.

Harry. He needed to find Harry. He didn’t know why, but something was telling him to find Harry.

The same _something_ that was telling him to walk into the fog. Ron shook his head. This wasn’t right.

Harry.

_That’s right, Ron. Harry. Harry needs you._

Ron walked towards the voice. Harry needed him.

By the time he stopped again, Ron was soaked in a cold sweat that left him feeling sick to his stomach. He was also lost. And wanting to wake up now. _Please_.

Someone laughed.

It didn’t make Ron feel any better.

Someone laughed louder.

“Oh, you sweet boy.”

A tall, willowy man emerged from the grey shadows. Ron watched warily as he stepped closer. The man was pretty, feminine almost, with long, wavy hair and a bewitching mouth.

Ron was torn between paralysing fear and _hello_.

The stranger smiled, “Oh definitely _hello_ , Ron,” and he winked.

Ron frowned. Bloody hell. Was this git reading his mind?

The other man laughed.

“Let me introduce myself.” He reached out his hand. “I’m William.”

Ron didn’t remember raising his hand but suddenly it was in the other man’s - William’s - and he was turning it around and licking Ron’s wrist. Seriously, what the fuck?

William looked up at him from under hooded eyes, “All in good time, dear boy. All in good time.” And the bastard bit into Ron’s wrist. _Merlin fuck_.

Ron must have blacked out or something because the next thing he knew, he was standing, unable to move as William walked slowly around him, occasionally brushing a hand across his body, the contact making Ron shiver with the need to shrink away. His wrist was throbbing but he couldn’t move his head to look at it.

“Mmm, Draco has good taste.” William leaned up against Ron’s back and breathed into his neck.

Ron tried again to move away but it was as if he was being held in a full Body Bind, unable to move anything. But that wasn’t really right either. He’d had the Body Bind thrown at him enough times to know what it felt like and this wasn’t it. He tried not to panic, even as William’s arms wrapped around him and he started to undo the buttons on Ron’s shirt.

Someone chuckled. “You never did have any patience, Bill.” Another man, this one even taller than William, stepped forward until he was pressed up against Ron’s chest. “Really, William, you need to learn to savour your food.” And he reached his hands up to still William's where they were still working on Ron’s buttons.

Ron sighed in relief. (Sadly, it proved to be an all too short-lived feeling).

The taller man released one of William’s wrists to reach a hand up to Ron’s cheek. A sharp finger nail scraped across his skin, slicing the soft flesh open. Ron gasped in pain, the feeling of blood sliding down his face, sickening.

The man - fuck, fuck, fuck, _Vampire_ \- pushed closer. “Oooh, he’s quite the responsive one, isn’t he? Draco was definitely holding out on us.” He turned Ron’s face to the side, easing William’s access. William lapped hungrily at the blood.

Ron would have closed his eyes if he could.

William groaned, “Sweet Lucifer, Gabe, he’s fucking delicious.” And he stretched across Ron’s shoulder to press his bloody mouth eagerly to the other Vampires.

Well, this was fucked up. Seriously fucked up. There was no denying that in normal circumstances - normal circumstances being those where Ron wasn’t about to be eaten alive by Vampires - the sight of William and Gabe licking greedily into each others mouths, pressed up against him all the while, would have been bloody hot.

Of course, the fact that he _was_ about to be eaten alive by Vampires and Ron _still_ found it hot was just seriously sick. And also a terrible time to discover that whatever it was that was holding his body immobile apparently wasn’t holding _all_ his body immobile. _Shit_.

The two Vampires broke their kiss. Gabe rolled his hips up against Ron’s. “Oh yeah, _very_ responsive,” he growled into Ron’s face. Then, he brought his hands up to hold Ron’s head in place as he pressed their mouths together.

Ron resisted as best he could in his current paralysed state. Until a soft voice whispered in his head _open_.

A coaxing voice he couldn’t resist, a sweet voice that he didn’t _want_ to resist.

He _needed_ to do what this voice said, Merlin he _wanted_ to.

_Oh._

His lips parted and Gabe’s tongue snaked inside just as William licked across the pulse on his neck.

_Oh, fuck._

~~~~

It took Draco three days to find him.


	2. Chapter 2

When Draco Malfoy learned what William Beckett planned to do, he immediately did what he had sworn never to do, and travelled back to England.

Of course, it hadn’t been difficult to track Weasley down - look for Potter and you’d soon find Weasley, trailing along after him as always, like the dutiful little puppy he was (and Draco refused to analyse why that still made him feel so angry).

He’d been watching over Weasley ever since.

Just to thwart Beckett. Obviously.

Thwarting. That was the key here. Spiting.

He hated William Beckett and would do everything in his power to stop him getting what he wanted. The fact that Beckett currently wanted what Draco couldn’t ever have again, was neither here nor there.

Or rather, actually that was exactly the problem. William would never have even known that Ron Weasley existed if it hadn’t been for Draco. He’d been careless and now, if he wasn’t vigilant, then Weasley was going to be the one to pay the price.

Draco sighed. It should have been a wet dream come true. _Should_ have been the culmination of every thing he’d been hoping for ever since he’d first met the red-headed little rodent. To finally be responsible for his bloody and painful demise.

But, _should have_ , had stopped making sense right about the first time he’d pushed the Weasel up against a wall, and instead of pounding on his face (like any good, well-adjusted Slytherin would have done), he’d gone and kissed the stupid boy into a sweaty mess.

Nothing had ever really been the same since.

And, if he didn’t get to Weasley before Beckett, then nothing ever would.

~~~

The first time he saw Weasley again, he was leaving The Ministry.

And Draco’s heart was _dead_ , so that sudden lurch in his chest must have been indigestion (shut the fuck up, the Undead do so get indigestion).

Of course, other parts of his body definitely didn’t feel dead, and they seemed to appreciate the growing up - and filling out - that Weasley had done in the ten years that had passed since Draco had seen him. Although, the tight jeans that the little shit was wearing probably helped with that too.

Draco shook his head. He couldn’t afford to get distracted. Weasley’s -admittedly fine - arse depended upon it.

He followed the other man home, watching over him throughout the night. (What he definitely _didn’t_ do during those hours in the dark, was think about all the things that he and Weasley had done together in sixth year. Because really, that would most certainly have fallen into the category of ‘getting distracted,’ and he was a professional, damn it, he didn’t do that sort of thing).

By the time morning came, Draco was hidden far away from the sun. And yeah, pretty much fucked.

Seeing Weasley again, being close enough to breathe in his familiar scent. It was too much. It was like every wall he had built up inside himself, every defence that he had spent years erecting, had all come tumbling down during those handful of hours spent in the gloom of Weasley’s room.

Now, as he lay in the dark of his own room, Draco couldn’t avoid the truth anymore. He loved Weasley as much as he ever had, as much as he had when he’d kicked the stupid git out of his bed all those years ago.

And just fuck William Beckett for knowing it too.

Because Draco had realised something else. He knew William would come and that he could only protect Weasley for so long. William was too old, too powerful and it was just a matter of time. And time was definitely something William wasn’t short on.

He rubbed his fingers across his eyes.

For the first time Draco actually wished he hadn’t refused Beckett. He hoped that wherever his mother was she could forgive him for that.

~~~

The next night Draco shifted in the shadows and frowned down at the pool of light being cast by the street lamp across the street. He had to give it to Beckett; the bastard really had this torture thing down to a fine art. Draco shrugged, centuries to ponder over things would probably do that, he supposed. A bloke has to have a hobby, after all.

He hated to think what Beckett might do if presented with actual pointy knives and pliers and stuff. Because, really, just the whole having to watch-and-not-touch thing was pretty much fucking with Draco’s head at the moment.

Oh, and did he mention how much he hated Harry Potter?

Okay, well good, then.

He punched a hole into the side of Weasley’s basement flat as he waited for Potter to leave. It had been fucking _hours_.

~~~

It wasn’t Draco’s fault. It wasn’t.

There was no way he could have seen it coming. Wizards and Vampires hated each other. Everyone knew that. They had nothing in common and just really, really pissed each other off.

For a start, Vampires were particularly susceptible to Wizard magic, a fact that Wizards took great delight in shoving in the Vampires’ faces whenever they could (incidentally, also a fact that had saved Draco’s life on more than one occasion recently). To add insult to injury, Wizards were more than usually resistant to Vampire tricks. They could put up protection spells that meant they could keep Vampires out of their heads, making them immune to things like mesmerism. It made Wizards very hard to control, and if there was one thing Vampires coveted - well, besides vat loads of warm blood - it was control.

While the main reason Wizards loathed Vampires wasn’t because they feared for their lives but because they feared for their magic. If a Wizard was turned, then it more often than not meant the loss of his magic as well as his heartbeat; the lack of a pulse, while inconvenient, could be overcome, but most Wizards would never get over the loss of their magical powers.

Of course, there had been exceptions. Some Wizards had been known to retain their gifts even once they became Vampire, but they were the few, the ones well-versed in Dark magic, and were considered to be amongst the most powerful (and yes, Draco had been known to preen a little over that).

The point being - Vampires and Wizards did not get along. They certainly didn’t form alliances.

So the spell was unexpected.

Draco had been standing in the alleyway that ran adjacent to The Ministry, waiting for Weasley to leave for the day as usual. The force of the spell had slammed him back into the opposite wall and he had been unconscious before he hit the ground.

By the time he came around, the lights in The Ministry windows were all out, and the place deserted. Weasley was gone.

Draco was easily able to trace his Apparition trail to Knockturn Alley; Beckett had made no attempt to cover his tracks that far at least.

Draco realised why when he reached the Alley.

Beckett had left him a message.

On the wall.

In blood.

_We have your boy_

_Tootles_

_W xx_

~~~

Draco wasn’t proud of the fact that he killed three Vampires, a Muggle and five Wizards over the course of the next two days.

He wasn’t particularly upset about it either.

He’d have willingly killed a hundred more, if it meant getting the information that he needed.

It might not have been his fault that Beckett had been able to get to Weasley that night, but Draco had to take some responsibility. If he’d warned him, Weasley could have defended himself, put up wards that would at least have kept Beckett out of his mind. But no, once again Draco had failed him. In his desire to protect himself, Draco had left the other man completely open to Beckett’s attack.

The only way he could possibly make up for it was by getting Weasley back before Beckett broke him completely (Beckett was not known for playing nicely with his toys).

Now that he knew where they’d gone, it was just a case of discovering how easy Beckett was going to make it for Draco to rescue Weasley.

Draco wasn’t stupid. He knew Beckett wanted him to find them. And he knew Weasley would be kept alive until he did. What would be the point of exacting revenge if the object of the revenge wasn’t there to witness it?

No, Beckett would want to kill Weasley in front of Draco. And that’s why he was making it so easy to find them. If Beckett had wanted to cover his tracks he wouldn’t have left anyone alive who could have led Draco to them.

What really worried Draco was what Beckett might be doing to Weasley in the meantime.

~~~

The first thing that hit Draco after he entered the room was the smell. It made his head swim and his vision blur. He had to stop and lean against the wall for a moment, fighting his body’s response.

Blood.

The room reeked of it. Fresh, pungent, sweet.

It took every ounce of self-control he had for Draco to suppress his instincts, to fight down the urge to drink, to feed.

Oh, Beckett was good. Draco let out a shaky laugh. The bastard had known that he’d have this reaction. That was the reason why the body chained to the bed was still bleeding freely, even though there was no one in the room to enjoy it.

Of course, Beckett had planned on being here to watch this moment, and doubtless he was going to be pissed as hell that he’d missed it (don’t underestimate your enemies, then, you fucker).

The little diversion Draco had set up a few hundred miles away had given him an extra few hours to extract Weasley. An extra few hours that meant Beckett missed this chance to revel in the sight of Draco struggling not to feed on Weasley himself, perhaps to even finish what Beckett and Saporta had started.

And who knows, maybe Beckett might have got his wish. If Draco had been a couple of hours later, maybe there might have been too much blood to resist. Draco couldn’t be sure that he could have been trusted with Weasley then. It turned his stomach to admit it, even to himself and he supposed that in itself, was a victory for Beckett.

Renewed anger surged through his veins and that more than anything helped clear his head, and brought the bloodlust under control.

He closed his eyes and quietly whispered the words that would reinforce the shields he had previously put in place. Beckett had underestimated him up to now. He just hoped he continued to do so. It was the only thing that was going to get him and Weasley out of here alive.

When he was sure he had himself completely under control, he allowed himself to look at Weasley.

He looked wrecked. Pale skin, almost transparent, thin veins stark against the chalk white tapestry; broken body criss-crossed with lacerations, some still seeping dark red droplets that made Draco’s mouth water with want.

Draco inhaled deeply and felt a phantom of breath rush from his body in relief. His stomach roiled at the heavy scent of Vampire, of Beckett and Saporta, that clung to the air, but under it all, _there_ , an earthy familiar smell, fresh like rain… _Ron_.

For the first time in nearly a decade Draco felt something like a sob catch in his throat. They’d fed from him but he was still human. They hadn’t turned him. His legs seemed to want to fold under him, but he fought against the treacherous little fuckers, and forced them to move towards the bed instead. He had to get Weasley out of here.

He unbuckled the straps from around Weasley’s ruined wrists as gently as he could, grateful that the other man was unconscious; the restraints hadn’t been selected for comfort, vicious teeth of metal ran the length of the insides, designed to bite cruelly into the skin and produce a constant flow of rich, dark blood.

Draco should have found it harder to resist the sight and scent, all of Weasley’s delicious fluids dripping, and soaking, over his body, the covers, the floor. But the bloodlust was still being screamed into silence by the anger and fear roaring in his head. He tried not to think about what that might mean.

When he had Weasley bundled up into a sheet, he cast a heating charm, the thin sheet would be no defence against the cold once they were flying. He gathered Weasley into his arms and walked towards the window. He ignored the nagging voice in his head that was asking why he hadn’t just cast a levitation spell, and hugged Weasley’s body closer to him, as he leapt from the ledge.

There would be plenty of time for terrifying epiphanies later.

~~~

It was three days before Ron woke up.

Longer before he opened his eyes.

He was afraid; scared to see William and Gabe’s mocking faces again, terror-stricken at the thought that he’d find them, waiting as always, just until he was aware enough to continue with their tormenting. After all, as they’d explained to him, over and over, they needed him completely refreshed and awake so that he could really join in and _play_.

After several moments passed without a sound, or a vicious poke at his most painful wounds, he decided to risk it and slowly raised his eyelids.

He couldn’t prevent a sob at finding the room empty. It was the most he could have hoped for, and he had to take a moment to recover from the almost painful relief that swept over his entire body, leaving him feeling weak and tearful in its wake.

When his body had stopped shaking and he was finally able to take in his surroundings he realised that he was in another strange bed, in another strange room. But for the first time in what seemed like forever, he was free of pain. And, oh God, he was _finally_ , alone inside his own head.

He was too fearful to be relieved, to let himself believe that it might be over; too terrified to think what might be coming next.

His mind was still in turmoil when the door to the room opened, and Draco Malfoy walked in carrying a tray.

Ron just stared and stared and stared.

~~~

“I know it must be hard to tear your eyes away from me Weasley, but please try, there’s a good chap.”

Draco put the tray down on the bedside table. He frowned down at Weasley who was still looking up at him in wide-eyed wonder. “Seriously, the staring? Creepy as fuck.”

“You’re a _Vampire_ and _I’m_ the creepy one.” Weasley sat up in the bed and glared across at the other man. “What the fuck?”

It was a pretty pathetic comeback, even for Weasley, but given what he had recently gone through, Draco felt generous enough to cut him some slack, so let it go. In reality he was just so fucking relieved that the red headed idiot had finally woken up that he probably would have forgiven him anything.

To begin with he’d been grateful for Weasley’s comatose state, especially when he’d seen the full extent of the man’s injuries. It seemed for once the Weasel’s body had done him a favour, and decided shutting down completely for a few days was the wisest option. It had allowed Draco time to heal Weasley’s body without having to deal with the man himself (he wasn’t sure he could have handled that).

He’d cast the final set of healing spells the previous night and then there’d been nothing to do but wait. He’d spent the time productively. Resetting all his wards and reinforcing his defences. Beckett would come he knew. And this time, at least one of them wasn’t going to survive the encounter. Draco had every intention of killing the bastard and cutting out his cold dead heart.

His thoughts were interrupted by a slightly hysterical laugh from the bed. Draco looked up from where he had been pouring a glass of water from the jug on the tray, and frowned at Weasley. He’d expected some sort of reaction from the red head when he finally woke up, but laughter hadn’t really been at the top of his list of possibilities.

Weasley was looking down at himself, fingering the material of the pyjamas that Draco had dressed him in, after he’d bathed and treated his wounds, that first night.

“Plaid?” He turned his head to look at Draco. “ _Plaid_ , really, Malfoy? I always pictured you as more of a black silk kind of guy.”

Draco tried not to let his relief show; for a moment he’d feared that Weasley had completely lost his mind. It wouldn’t have been an unreasonable reaction; Draco had seen Weasley’s wounds, could guess at what had probably caused them. He was dreading the breakdown when it came. And it would come. No one could go through what those two sadistic fucks had put Weasley through, and not have some sort of meltdown. He just hoped that afterward, Weasley would still be Weasley. Thinking otherwise was too terrifying.

For now, he could indulge the man’s avoidance tactics, and even overlook his poor attempts at humour.

“Shut up and drink this,” he said, handing Weasley the glass of water. “You’re extremely dehydrated from the blood loss.”

He looked away from the pained look that flashed in Weasley’s eyes at the last two words.

~~~

It wasn’t until the fifth day that Weasley was recovered enough to get out of bed, although Draco was adamant that it was only as far as the chair next to it.

Weasley seemed to find Draco’s fussing amusing, teasing him that he’d clearly missed his calling and should have become a Healer.

“Hey, Malfoy,” he said from the chair. “Maybe all those hours you spent skiving in the Infirmary at school paid off, after all. You must have picked something up from Pomfrey.”

“Fuck off, and drink your tea.” Draco didn’t even bother looking up.

“Yep, same bedside manner,” Weasley mumbled.

Draco had to bite his lip to stop from smiling.

Several moments passed with the only sound in the room that of Weasley sipping his tea, and the scratching of Draco’s quill as he wrote his letter.

Draco finished the letter and folded the parchment, addressing it to Harry Potter, before attaching it to the leg of his owl. He held his arm out and the owl hopped obediently onto his wrist. He carried it over to the open window and watched for a moment as it flew off into the night.

“So, why _me_ , Malfoy.” Weasley’s voice was soft now, all traces of teasing gone.

Draco sighed. He’d known this conversation was coming, he just hadn’t been looking forward to it. He had already told Weasley the previous night about how he’d tracked him down and the resultant rescue (he hadn’t mentioned his belief that they’d been ‘allowed’ to escape, he wanted Weasley to feel safe, at least for a little while).

The red head had seemed to accept Draco’s truncated explanation of events and hadn’t demanded any further answers. But Draco had known that he was just biding his time, waiting until he was ready to hear the rest.

It seemed that time had arrived.

Draco turned to face the other man. “I messed up, Weasley,” he said, sadly. “And you paid the price.”

Weasley shook his head, utterly lost. “What do you mean?” he asked quietly.

Draco started to pace restlessly around the room. “I met William Beckett a year ago,” he said, not looking at Weasley. “It was at a society party in Paris. All the best families, the top pedigrees were in attendance,” he paused, turning to pass a wry glance in Weasley’s direction, “not something _you’d_ be familiar with, of course.”

Weasley quirked his lips at the familiar, if half-hearted taunt. “Of course,” he responded, ducking his head.

Draco wanted to kill himself (again) at how cute he found it. Resisting the urge to go and rip out a few throats just to reassert his ruthless edge, Draco forced himself to continue.

“One half of the guests were there to show off their latest gowns and try to off load a few unsightly daughters,” he paused. “The other half were there for the food.”

He stopped walking and stepped up to the window again, looking out into the dark shadows beyond the glass.

Weasley looked down at the bedspread, frowning in confusion. “What, so…they knew how to put on a good buffet?”

Draco snorted. “Not quite.” He turned to face Weasley. “Half the room _was_ the buffet,” he said, staring at the other man.

Weasley looked up, wide eyed, as realisation set in. “Shit,” he almost whispered. Then, meeting Draco’s stare, he asked quietly, “did Beckett bite you?”

Draco laughed bitterly. “He was a bit late for that.”

He turned away from Weasley’s searching eyes. “No, William and I got to know each over the _post_ -dinner drinks.”

Draco could feel the other man’s confusion. And the moment that he finally got it.

Weasley jumped up from the bed and ran into the bathroom. The sound of retching could be heard from the other room.

Draco glared at the glass of the window, as if he could force it to show his non-existent reflection by sheer force of will. He wanted to put his fist through it, to shatter it for mocking him, taunting him with his inhumanity. He turned away from it just in time to watch Weasley’s slow return to the room.

The red head was as pale as when Draco had found him shackled to Beckett’s bed and bled almost dry. And Draco was suddenly angry. He wanted to shake the stupid bastard. Scream at him _what did you expect_? He knew Draco was a Vampire. What did he think he’d been living on all these years? Vegetarianism wasn’t really an option. Stupid, naïve Weasel.

Weasley walked to the bed and sat down carefully, he brushed shaking hands through his hair, he kept his eyes looking down, as if he was afraid to look at Draco now that he _knew_.

And fuck, damn. How dare he. How dare the silly, little boy, how _dare_ he be _afraid_.

Without thought, Draco cleared the distance between them, and pinned Weasley to the bed, straddling his waist, hand tight around his throat. “You stupid fucking _human_ ,” he spat out the word like it was something foul and dirty.

“Don’t you think I could have killed you a thousand times over?” The hand not clutching at Weasley’s neck reached for his hair, pulling Weasley’s head to the side to expose his neck. “Stupid, Weasel, so, so stupid.” He leaned down and licked a long, wet stripe from Weasley’s Adam's apple to his ear. “I could have had you _any_ time I wanted.”

He looked up then, into terrified blue eyes and something broke inside him at the sudden realisation that Weasley wasn’t fighting back. It was the most unnatural thing he’d experienced in what had become a very unnatural life.

He leaned down again and placed a gentle, chaste kiss on Weasley’s soft lips, silently vowing to make Beckett’s death a slow and very, _very_ painful one.

Draco reluctantly released his hold on the other man and climbed off the bed. He walked to the chair on the other side of the room and sat down. He watched impassively as Weasley carefully sat up, hand gingerly stroking his neck where Draco’s tongue had licked him. He couldn’t bear to look at the bowed head a moment longer, so he looked away.

“Fuck you, you Undead fucking freak!”

Draco’s head whipped back around to stare at Weasley in shock.

The other man was standing up and -- _vibrating_ \-- there was no other word for it. His eyes were flashing with fury and his previously pale face was flooded with colour. Draco had never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

“You little freak.” Weasley was advancing on him now (and Draco got hard so fast he felt dizzy). “Where do you get off using your freaky Undead super-strength against me?”

Ah. That could explain the lack of fighting back. He sometimes forgot about that.

“And enough with the licking already. Seriously what is it with you fucking Vampires and the constant licking?”

Weasley was leaning now, looming over Draco. “Keep your fucking tongue to yourself.”

He looked down pointedly at where Draco’s trousers were doing nothing to hide his current _worked up_ state and grinned. “At least until it’s needed.”

And the evil little shit used his own tongue to lick into Draco’s mouth and suck on the offending appendage.

~~~

Draco was completely shocked. Incredibly happy about being so thoroughly mistaken, but definitely surprised. He would have thought sex would have been the last thing Weasley would have wanted after what Beckett and Saporta had done to him. But being the good, kind chap he was, he was willing to go along with Weasley’s wishes. After all, it was the least he could do.

A considerable time later, when they were lying in bed, exhausted and sticky, Draco felt compelled to ask why.

Weasley adjusted his position, moving closer to Draco, tucking his head under Draco’s chin. He rested his hand on Draco’s chest, above his heart.

His voice was soft and low, almost a whisper, “I needed to,” he said. “I had to claim it back. I needed to know that it could be good again.” He pressed his lips briefly to the skin of Draco’s neck. “I had to make sure--had to know that I could decide this for myself. That it could be _my_ choice. I controlled what my body wanted and did. No one else. _Me_.”

Draco carded his fingers through Weasley’s hair. He could understand that, could understand the other man’s need to reassert control over his own body. Of course, he had hoped that perhaps Weasley had just been totally overcome by Draco’s sheer animal magnetism. But well, he could accept that not everything was about him (whatever his father had claimed).

“Liar,” he said, leaning down to kiss the top of Weasley’s head. “You just couldn’t resist my sheer animal magnetism.”

Weasley snorted into Draco’s neck. “Yeah, that’s it Malfoy. You got me.”

“Yes, yes I have,” Draco said, pulling him closer.

“So,” Weasley said, a little while later. “You were telling me about how you met Beckett.”

Draco nodded, even though Weasley couldn’t see him. “Yes, I was. But then you decided to give me a good…telling off.”

Weasley waved his hand imperiously, “I think you’ve learned your lesson,” he said. “You may continue.”

Draco chuckled softly, hugging the red head tighter to his chest.

“Okay, long story short, Weasel,” he said. “Beckett wanted me in his bed first, in his clan second.”

Weasley looked up and winked. “The Vampire does have good taste.”

Draco laughed again. “That is true,” he said. “Anyway, when I refused both offers Beckett was not a happy bunny.” He glanced down at Weasley’s head were it was resting on his chest. “You may have noticed that dear old William doesn’t usually let a refusal stop him taking what he wants.”

Weasley suddenly looked like he was going to vomit again and Draco wanted to kick himself. Merlin, he was an idiot.

“Luckily, for me,” he said, hurrying on, “he hadn’t done his research this time, so he had no idea that I was a Wizard. It’s probably the only reason I got out of there alive. I kept a low profile after that. Of course, young Mr Beckett did not react well to my rejection. William is a spoilt little brat - less indulgence and a few good spankings when he was a boy would have done him the world of good.”

Weasley looked up at that, his knowing smirk speaking volumes.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Weasley chuckled and placed his head back down on Draco’s chest. Draco liked the faint vibration of his laughter, was relieved that his earlier thoughtless remark hadn’t subdued the man in his arms.

“So, basically Beckett threw the world’s biggest hissy fit, throwing all his toys out of his pram - only, you know, with more blood and gore - and quite a few people died. Some I even cared about,” Draco paused, he wasn’t going to think of his mother now. He wasn’t. He pulled Weasley closer to him and continued.

“After that things went quiet. I assumed that Beckett had satisfied himself that he had punished me enough for my impertinence, and had moved on to a more amusing game. I was wrong.

When several months passed without seeing or hearing from Beckett - (hearts, still warm and dripping blood, had also stopped turning up in his post, but he didn’t think Weasley needed to know all the details) - I finally started to relax. And got careless.”

He sighed in frustration as the memories crashed into his consciousness, it hurt to remember his mistakes.

“Beckett and his clan cornered me one night. I wasn’t too worried, my magic was more than a match for them and their Vampire voodoo. I could have Apparated out of there whenever I wanted.”

Draco couldn’t stop the anger surging up as he remembered that night. He released his hold on Weasley and climbed out of bed; grabbing his dressing gown (black silk) from the chair, he put it on and walked over to the open window.

“I should have got out of there straight away. But, no, I was too arrogant.” He breathed in the cold night air.

Weasley sat up in the bed. “You? Nah,” he said with a smile.

Draco ignored him; he wasn’t in the mood for banter now. The memory of what his arrogance had cost still too fresh.

“I stood there sneering at them, exchanging pathetic barbs with that mongrel Saporta, while Beckett watched.”

He turned to Weasley with a weak laugh. “And that really should have been my first fucking clue. William never stands by if there’s fun to be had. Oh no, he dives right on in.”

He didn’t miss Weasley’s shudder at his words, and he had to clench his fists at his side to stop from doing something stupid, like punching the wall. It took a few moments to get his body under control before he could continue.

“There’s some things you should know about William Beckett. He is a very old Vampire. We’re talking centuries old. He’s had a long time to develop his abilities.” Draco’s voice was contemptuous now. “He’s not only a powerful mesmerist, able to make anyone do his bidding by merely wishing it so, he can also read minds.”

Okay, so Weasley didn’t exactly look surprised by those revelations. Draco almost laughed out loud at his own stupidity. Yeah, it’s not like the poor bastard hadn’t had a chance to experience William’s party tricks up close and personal.

“In my arrogance and anger I’d forgotten that,” he continued in a quieter voice. “It was to cost me dear.”

He stopped pacing and looked over at Weasley.

Weasley’s head was bowed and he was picking at the bedspread. His voice was rough as he spoke. “Go on.”

Draco resisted the urge to go over to him, and continued with his story. “Beckett wasn’t just watching the fun. He was raping my memories.”

Weasley looked up then, and their eyes locked.

“He saw us Weasley. Saw what we’d done. And he knew what you meant to me. By the time I realised what was happening it was too late. He already knew how to destroy me. How to finally have his revenge. From that moment on your life was forfeit.”

Weasley looked away, frowning.

Draco sighed. “I knew he’d go after you, the only hope I had was that I could protect you, get to you first. I came back to England to watch over you.”

He paused, shaking his head. “I didn’t know about the other Wizard though, I wasn’t expecting that. If only --”

“I don’t get it.“

Draco looked up at the interruption.

Weasley was shaking his head slowly, face pinched in confusion.

“I don’t get it, Malfoy,” he repeated. “ I still don’t understand why he went for _me_?”

He looked up at Draco then, eyes filled with doubt. “Did you -- _know_ \-- the other victims?”

Draco shook his head. “No,” he said. “They had no connection with me. Their only crime was to be in the wrong place when William was hungry. And then he used their bodies to point to you.”

Weasley looked thoughtful. “The spiral,” he said. His eyes locked with Draco’s again. “So, it wasn’t the Minister?”

Draco shook his head. “No. It was always you. The pattern was a message for me. Beckett was letting me know his intent. He was taking his time, but he was heading towards you, always towards _you_.”

Weasley’s face creased further in confusion and his whole body seemed to collapse in on itself. “But why?” he asked, looking totally lost now. “You said it yourself, Malfoy -- back then -- you told me. I was just a _casual fuck_.”

Draco winced at the familiar words being thrown back in his face.

Weasley shook his head slowly. “There must have been lots of those in your life. I was just one of many. You fucked me for information, Malfoy. Remember?”

There were tears in his eyes now, and Draco wanted nothing more than to rush over to him and deny it all. But he held off, giving Weasley the time he needed, letting him say it all.

“You whored yourself for The Cause, wasn’t that it? How many others did you fuck for The Cause, Malfoy? Come on, you were _dedicated_ , there must have been loads of anonymous bodies.” He was crying now.

“Did William hunt them all down, Malfoy? Did he fuck and bleed them all?” Weasley’s voice was rough with emotion. “Did he tie them all up, strip them all? For you, Malfoy? Just to destroy you, Malfoy?”

Draco watched helplessly as the horror of what had been done to him finally came spewing out of Weasley’s wretched mouth.

“Tell me, Malfoy. Tell me did he do that? Did your precious William Beckett round up _all_ your past fucks, just so he could share them with his friend. To pass them back and forth between the two of them. Bleeding, feeding, making them think that they _wanted_ that. Violating their minds, fucking them over in more ways than could be thought up, fucking their bodies and their minds. Did he do that to _all_ your casual fucks, Malfoy.”

The tears streamed down his face now, and his voice begged to know. “Did he do that to _all_ of them,” he sobbed. “Or, am I really just that special?”

Draco couldn’t stand it anymore. He rushed over to Weasley and wrapped his arms around him, hugging him to his chest, shushing and soothing, babbling nonsense.

“Yes, yes, Weasley. Special. You. Just you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Weasley eventually fell into an exhausted sleep and Draco held him close, stroking his fingers through his hair.

~~~

Ron woke up several hours later, still wrapped in Malfoy’s arms.

He let out a shaky breath. He felt strung out and still tired despite all the sleep. He closed his eyes again and just concentrated on the feel of Malfoy’s fingers in his hair.

“I can make it all go away.”

It was whispered softly into his hair.

Ron understood, knew what Malfoy was offering.

 _Obliviate_.

“No,” it was said quietly, Ron’s voice tight with emotion. He didn’t explain; he wasn’t sure he could. But somehow what he’d suffered was for love. Love _of_ and _for_ Malfoy. Why would he want to forget that?

But there was something he needed to know.

“Why did you send me away?”

Malfoy sighed above him but pulled him closer.

“To protect you. I knew what Voldemort had planned for me. If I had failed he would have used you against me, like he used my parents. I couldn’t risk that, couldn’t risk you.”

Ron felt a soft kiss to his head. “I would rather you hated me.” Malfoy let out a bitter chuckle. “It was so easy to convince _you_ I hated you, but I couldn’t fool Beckett. He saw what you truly meant to me.”

He released Ron then, pushing him away and up, so he could look into his face.

“If I could take it back, all of it --”

Ron smiled, pulling him into a hug. “I know. I know. Sssh.”

“When you saved Crabbe. I thought, hoped…but then they killed your brother and I had to watch, look at your face… I wanted to go to you --”

“How touching.”

Ron looked up in horror.

William Beckett was standing in the doorway doing a slow hand clap.

~~~

 _Fuck fuck fuck_.

Ron had never felt more terrified in his life. His body had started trembling as soon as he’d heard _that_ voice. He was grateful for Malfoy’s arms that were still wrapped around him. He knew the other man must be able to feel him shaking but he really didn’t give a fuck. He had bloody well earned his terror.

Beckett had moved further into the room by then, and Ron flinched as Saporta stepped out from behind him and winked over at Ron.

There were others too, that he didn’t recognise but were clearly Vampire. The last man to walk into the room he did recognise.

“Nott?” he asked, incredulously.

Theodore Nott grinned at him. “Weasley. Malfoy.” He nodded at each of them in turn.

“You bastard!”

Malfoy was half out the bed and about to launch himself at the grinning Wizard, but Nott had his wand and he held it up in front of himself. “Now, now Draco, don’t be hasty. Wouldn’t want Weasley here to get caught in the cross-fire now would we?”

That pulled Malfoy up and he was left standing helplessly next to the bed.

Beckett and Saporta were both laughing now.

“You really have it bad, don’t you, Draco.” Saporta grinned at Malfoy before turning to leer in Ron’s direction. “Not that I blame you. He _is_ one hell of a fuck.”

Malfoy took a step toward the taunting Vampire, but stopped when Nott raised his wand and pointed it at Ron.

Saporta turned to grin widely at Beckett. “Hey, look, Bill, Draco’s even been kind enough to unwrap him for us.”

Ron glanced down at his bare chest and blushed. Thank Merlin they’d put their underwear back on earlier.

William smirked. “Indeed. There’s nothing worse than getting clothing stuck in one’s teeth. Quite ruins the meal.” He swept his eyes over what he could see of Ron’s body above the bed covers. Then he shifted his focus to Ron’s face and Ron felt a brush of something up against his mind.

“Come here, Ron.” William was staring intently at him now, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Fuck off.”

Ron almost laughed at the comical way the smiles fell simultaneously off Beckett and Saporta’s faces.

It was Malfoy’s turn to smirk now.

“Oh, come on, you didn’t think I’d leave him defenceless against you a second time did you?” He smiled over at Ron. “He’s shielded against your tricks now Beckett. You might have to work for your supper this time.”

Ron threw him an appalled look.

Malfoy shrugged apologetically. “Sorry.”

Beckett rolled his eyes. “Enough. All this domesticity is giving me a head ache.” He nodded over at a couple of his minions. “Michael, Ryland bring the meat over here.” He chuckled at Malfoy’s growl. “Easy tiger.”

The two Vampires pulled Ron from the bed, and dragged him over to the waiting Beckett, who immediately reached out to stroke Ron’s face in a mockery of a caress.

~~~

Draco couldn’t stop himself, as soon as he saw Beckett touch Weasley he was moving. Unfortunately, Nott moved quicker. Draco stopped when he felt the wand being pressed sharply into his throat.

“Be sensible, Malfoy. I could Totalus you in a second and how could you possibly help Weasley then?”

Much as he hated to admit it, the bastard had a point. Draco switched his glare from Nott to Beckett. “You touch him again Beckett and I swear I’ll --”

“Oh, do shut up, Draco.” Beckett, leant closer to Weasley, and reached out to run his hand across the red head’s chest. “You’re ruining the moment.”

“Oh, please,” Weasley’s lip curled in contempt (it had always been one of Draco’s favourite looks). “Could you just get on with this. And for the record, I’m not doing anything willingly with or to you.” He turned to Saporta. “Or you, you Undead lanky freak.”

Saporta actually looked grudgingly impressed for a moment. He turned to Beckett. “You know Bill, I’m really going to miss the ginger dude.”

Beckett looked thoughtful. “Mm, I’m beginning to feel a little that way myself.”

He clapped his hands together and turned around to face the rest of the room. “Okay, everyone, change of plan. I have decided not to kill Weasley after all. Yay. Go me.” And he clapped his hands rapidly together again a few times before punching his arms in the air.

Every one stared (accept Saporta who rolled his eyes).

Beckett frowned in disappointment at the lacklustre response, and then flounced back around to face Weasley and Draco.

“You,” he said and pointed at Weasley. “I’m keeping as a pet.”

“You.” And this time he pointed at Draco. “I’m going to kill.”

He grinned at both. “But first I’m going to make you watch me turn your boy here into one of us. Oh yeah, and I might fuck him too. Or no, no. I know.”

He was jumping up and down now, eyes shining with inspiration. “I’ll have Gabe fuck him _while_ I kill you.” He looked around the room expectantly. “Evil genius or what?” he asked pointing at himself.

Weasley leant forward and said, “you do know you’re fucking mental, right?”

Beckett frowned and then back handed him.

Weasley's head flew to the side, and if he wasn’t being held up by two Vampires, he probably would have fallen down.

Draco automatically moved towards him, but Nott still had the wand to his throat, so he couldn’t move very far.

Weasley nodded, his lip bleeding. “Is it ’cos you look like a girl?” he asked.

Saporta snorted, which earned him a hard look from Beckett.

“Hold him,” Beckett said to the Vampires, and stepped forward until he loomed over Weasley. “In the course of the next century or two, I’m really going to make you regret those words, Ron.”

And without further preamble, he sank his fangs deep into Weasley’s neck.

Weasley screamed, writhing in the hold of the Vampires.

Draco tried to reach him, regardless of the threat of Nott’s wand, but several Vampires descended on him and held him down.

Eventually, Weasley’s screams subsided into pathetic whimpers, and his body slumped between the two Vampires.

Beckett released him from his bite, stepping back, he licked his bloody lips. “Still delicious,” he said to nobody in particular.

Weasley seemed to be unconscious now, the grip of a Vampire either side the only thing holding him up.

Draco struggled uselessly under the weight of the Vampires restraining him.

Beckett turned to look down at him with a wicked smile. “I do hope you have a good view from down there, Draco. When Gabe fucks him, we’ll let you up to make sure you don’t miss any of the action, but I think for now you’re better off down there.”

He reached into his jacket pocket then, bringing out a sharp looking knife. He stretched out his arm and sliced across his wrist, blood bubbling to the surface instantly. He lifted the wrist to his mouth and dipped the tip of his tongue into the blood. “Not bad, if I do say so myself,” he said, with a waggle of his eyebrows.

He stepped back to Weasley’s recumbent body. He looked at the Vampire on his right. “Michael, hold his head back,” he instructed.

The Vampire immediately obliged, pulling Weasley’s head back by his hair.

Draco wanted to close his eyes. Weasley looked so fucking pale, as if the life had already been sucked out of him. Draco felt sick, but knew he owed it to Weasley to watch his last few moments of humanity.

Beckett reached his arm out and held his dripping wrist over Weasley’s mouth.

And that’s when the whole world seemed to explode.

Suddenly all the windows blew inwards, showering glass everywhere. At the same time, the door was blown from its hinges, and the room was filled with several new bodies.

Smoke filled the air making it difficult to see. Draco was vaguely aware of a variety of spells and curses being shouted out throughout the crowded room, but more importantly the Vampires holding him down were falling off him one by one, until he realised that he was free to move.

He immediately jumped to his feet and tried to get his bearings. His first thought was for Weasley. Where was he? Was he safe?

Someone grabbed hold of his arm, and he looked up into the face of Harry Potter. For the second time in his life he was actually glad to see the scar-faced bastard.

“Weasley?” It was the only thing he could think to ask, the only thing that concerned him.

Harry pulled him over to the bed. Weasley had been placed on it, still unconscious, but Draco was relieved to see the rise and fall of his chest. He was still alive.

“Look out!”

He turned to see Beckett about to leap upon him, fangs and knife both at the ready. Draco quickly took out the gun he had tucked into his dressing gown, and fired it directly at Beckett’s head. There was an explosion of dust and ashes and Beckett was gone.

“Nice.” Harry nodded at the still smoking gun.

After that, it didn’t take long for Harry and the rest of his team of Aurors to finish the fight and gather up what was left of Beckett’s clan. Some of the Vampires had escaped, but Nott was in custody, and a weeping Saporta was being led out the door.

The feeling of victory was short-lived.

Weasley was still bleeding. And it wouldn't stop.

For a brief moment his eyes fluttered open and he smiled weakly up at Draco. “Thank you for not letting him turn me,” he gasped out. Then, “I love you.”

His eyes closed. The pulse at his neck was weak, slowing even as Draco watched it.

Draco turned helpless, tear-filled eyes to Harry.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said, chokingly.

Harry ran his hand frantically through his hair. “I thought that Vampires had something in their saliva that could heal bites,” he said desperately.

Draco shook his head, “That only works if it’s the saliva from the Vampire that bit them.”

They all turned to stare at the little pile of ash that used to be William Beckett.

Harry was nearly hysterical now. “There must be something you can do,” he screamed at Draco.

Shaking his head, Draco moved closer on the bed to press nearer to Weasley. He was still shaking his head as he said, “turning him is the only thing. The only thing that could save him.”

“Do it!” Harry’s voice was adamant.

“No,” Draco’s whole body was shaking now, not just his head. “No. I can’t do that to him. I _won’t_ do that to him.”

Harry reached across Weasley’s body, to grab Draco by the collar. “Yes, you fucking will,” he said, giving him a shake for good measure.

Draco wiped at his face, surprised when his hand came away wet. “But he’ll be a Vampire. He’ll be Undead.”

“He’ll fucking adapt!” Harry shouted in his face.

Draco had no answer to that, he just looked helplessly up into the other man’s face.

Harry released his hold of Draco and spoke softly. “It will be fine Draco.” He patted Draco on the arm as if to reassure him. “Hell,” he said, choking on a sob. “He already loves flying.”

Draco nodded shakily. Then taking hold of his wand he used it to open a vein. He pressed his wrist to Weasley’s slack mouth…

~~~

Draco waits.

For three days.

He keeps a constant vigil at Weasley’s bedside.

He won’t allow anyone else to see him, and every one recognising his need to watch over Ron, lets him be.

He doesn’t tell them about the gun (Avada Kedavra won’t work on a corpse).

If Weasley wakes.

If he doesn’t want this.

If he doesn’t want this damned existence, this travesty of life that has been thrust upon him, then Draco has vowed to put the gun to his head. (Avada Kedavra won’t do it, but a silver tipped bullet to the brain will).

He tells himself he’ll know. He’ll know when he sees Weasley’s eyes.

They’ll tell him all he needs to know. He won’t have to be asked. He’ll _know_.

On the third day Weasley begins to stir.

Draco moves to the bed. He leans down and smoothes the hair from Weasley’s forehead. Then he places a soft kiss on his lips.

One last kiss.

He reaches out to grip the gun, moving it onto the pillow, so it rests against Weasley’s head.

“Weasley,” he whispers.

Ron opens his eyes.

“Draco.”

_End_


End file.
